


The Metaphysics of Isolation

by piggywrites



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Ballet, Creepy, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive Behavior, Operas, Paris (City), Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-06 16:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16836280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggywrites/pseuds/piggywrites
Summary: Ivan Braginsky is a troubled man who seldom finds comfort in anything, these days- he spends most of his time wandering the halls of the Garnier Opera in Paris, where his sisters work... and watching one of the ballerinas from among the shadows.He grows more and more infatuated with her with each passing day and he realises that, one day, he'll have to attempt to speak to her.... should that day ever come.





	The Metaphysics of Isolation

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! I long hesitated to post this here, so here we go!  
> Welcome to _The Metaphysics of Isolation_ , a small multichapter fic set in a run-of-the-mill Human AU where I'll explore a kind of... Benevolent stalker kind of dynamic between Ivan and Angélique. I won't spoil my own fic, but rest assured that I won't go into any uuuuh nasty territories with this. Trust me. 
> 
> ANYWHO. I'll have a bunch of characters joining in the cast of this fic soon enough! I just need to get onto writing as many chapters as I can! Please leave Kudos if you've taken the time to read this! It means a lot! 
> 
> Love, Baguette ♥

* * *

"Ivan, this is very sweet, but you really don't have to do this as often as you do."

Interrupting his awkward fumbling through files, Ivan looked up at his older sister a little sheepishly. Was he truly bothering her? He was well-meaning, he swore, he just didn't understand.  
Sighing a little, Iryna looked over him sternly, a curious mix of exasperation and genuine concern stirring within her as she studied her brother's composure- How his broad shoulders tensed as she spoke, how his eye twitched slightly when she put her hands on her hips, disapproving. It was an interesting sight, to say the least.  
Ivan was a tall, hulking, imposing man with a worn face and rough hands... Despite this, in this very moment, he looked like a little boy caught with his hand stuck in a cookie jar.

Slowly pulling his hands away from the paperwork he was tidying for Iryna, Ivan straightened himself and rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a shaky breath. He didn't like the tone she was using- nor did he like it when she looked at him like that. It reminded him of how she'd scold him when they were children. They were both in their thirties now and she hadn't changed.

"... I just wanted to help." Ivan muttered, lowering his gaze.

Iryna shook her head slowly and stepped around her desk, arms crossed as she looked up to her brother. She squinted a little before she spoke, her voice a little softer than it had been previously.

"You're lonely again."

Ivan's eye twitched and his mouth twisted a little, as though he was unsure of what expression to show when he looked back up to her.

"I'm bored. I wanted to see you."

Sighing, Iryna looked out of her office's window. All she saw were the Parisian rooftops that filled the view below the mournful grey sky. A pigeon flew by, then another, then she eventually relaxed and looked back up to Ivan who simply stood there, visibly thinking over and over what he wanted to say to her next-

"You come to my office three times a week, sometimes more- Ivan, I'm working." Iryna tried to reason him, holding her hands together.

He shouldn't be doing this. Actually, he couldn't normally be doing this, but since she insisted on telling her colleagues to pay no mind to him, he seemed to have gotten used to simply waltzing into the opera's offices. He knew the elevator's code by heart at this point, the security guard downstairs playfully called him by his first name- it had become a habit for him and Iryna unwittingly nurtured it.

Every few days, Ivan would go to his older sister's workplace to... simply hang around. Bring her coffee, help her file paperwork, something, anything. It wasn’t just _boredom_ , and Iryna knew this.

"Have you been taking your medication?" she asked him, looking up to him sternly. He looked back down on her without much of an expression on his tired face.

His silence spoke volumes.

" _Ivan_ ," Iryna whined, placing her hands on Ivan's arms, "The doctor said-"

"I'm tired of taking medication that doesn't do anything," he replied immediately, exasperation in his voice before an uncomfortable expression twisted his face, brows knit together when he realised he almost raised his voice to Iryna.

He continued in a lower tone, gritting his teeth. "If you don't want me here, I'll leave."

Iryna nodded, letting go of his sleeves before she took a step back.  
"It's nothing against you, it's just.. with the new season starting off, I'm really busy- everyone is. I have to organise everything and call the advertisers again-"

"Yes."

"- and I have to make sure the costume department is stocked up-"

"Iryna. I know. You're busy."

"- and I have to tell Natalya to tell the other dancers to-"

"Iryna."

"... I'd just rather know you’re at home."

Ivan shook his head and turned away, breathing in before he put his hand on the doorknob.  
"I'll see you tonight, then."

Iryna nodded and waved him off, watching as he left and knowing he'd be sulking like a child at dinner, later- Shoulders slumping a little, she stepped over to the door and closed it before she returned to her desk.

Ivan wasn't all that bothered by his sister's rejection. It was a conversation they had a few times before - but, stubbornly enough, he continued, coming to the opera and stopping by Iryna's office, walking around the hallways, the grandiose marble staircases, glancing up at the chandeliers and the paintings on the walls. He'd venture where only employees were allowed to go, behind the stage, into the empty changing rooms and even daring to find his way to the rehearsal rooms.

His presence went for the most part unnoticed. He haunted the place like a ghost, and very few people paid mind to him. Most of the people who worked at the opera knew he was Iryna's brother. _Don't mind him, he's 'troubled' but he's pretty harmles_ s, they'd whisper, often to new hires who'd ask who 'that guy over there' was.

They were usually those who worked with his sister, or those who saw him often enough to know what he was all about- security, janitors, maybe a handful of the musicians. The dancers didn't, though.

He had no interest in interacting with them. He would have liked to watch them- though the only time he had, Natalya told him to stay away... so he did.

Despite everything, he couldn't really go against his sister’s wishes.

Natalya never told the other dancers who he was. She believed they had no business knowing. She didn't want the other girls to ask her annoying questions about him- for his sake. She didn't want to talk about him.

It was for the best.

Ivan understood this… to an extent. Instead of watching the group rehearsals, he focused on something else. Something Natalya would never find out about simply because he knew she would never ask.

At around 5PM, almost every day, in the smaller rehearsal room on the floor beneath the one used for the entire troupe, the one that had windows that looked out to the sunset in the colder months, was what Ivan had come to believe was the embodiment of pure, unadulterated grace.

Pushing up his sleeve to reveal his wristwatch, he checked the time. He picked up the pace and slipped through a door, making his way towards the rehearsal rooms. He’d only stay for a few minutes, he told himself.

The Ballet Master’s clear voice could be heard from down the hallway, clear above the the gentle wails of recorded violins. His orders echoed off the walls, and Ivan flinched a little when he’d raise his voice perhaps a little too much.

He knew he’d be in trouble if Monsieur Bonnefoy saw him.

Never had he been more grateful for the small windows in each door. He could peep without being seen- He was a shadow, silently watching, his presence subdued by how invested the Master and his protégée were in their craft.

The protégée, who was still unnamed in Ivan’s mind, had appeared a few months ago. He barely knew where she came from, who she was, or how she came to dance for the opera… But she was there. That’s all Ivan knew. She was _there_ and each day she would practice.

Each day he came, he’d watch as the young woman stretched her muscles and prepped herself for each session, eyes following her as she walked around like a lioness in her cage, occasionally glancing at herself in the mirror-  
And when the training session started, she blossomed, dancing along to the simpering music, each of her movements calculated and precise. Graceful. Beautiful. _Pirouettes_ and _arabesques_ , _saut de biche_ , _saut de chat_ , twirls and turns on pointed toes-

And while the music played and while Bonnefoy berated her, Ivan could only focus on _her_ . He watched her, in all of her beauty, and sighed at how gentle and delicate she seemed. His eyes trailed down, daring to trace the curve of her hips, eyes falling from the black leotard to the paleness of her thighs. Holding his breath, he balled his fists and looked away.   
Perhaps was he ashamed to stare, to watch the way he did… Perhaps was he far more afraid of the idea of being caught, for he simply couldn’t help his voyeuristic tendencies.

He felt it was wrong- to watch a woman who knew nothing of his existence. To observe her the way he did… There was something horrendously perverse about it. He didn’t even know her name.

So, as per usual, when he had enough, Ivan stepped away from the door and slipped back into the shadows, down the hallway, hoping to be ignored and forgotten before anybody would wonder who he was or where he had come out from.

It was a secret for him to keep. He could only imagine the _outrage_ if anyone found out….So he said nothing. Nobody knew. It was for the best, wasn’t it?

It was better than medication.


End file.
